


close ain't close enough with you

by soixantecroissants



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, a good old fashioned sting gone wrong, and a very dramatic rescue, pre daredevil season three, some minor injuries occur, takes place post defenders, these timelines are fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-09 21:09:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18925066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soixantecroissants/pseuds/soixantecroissants
Summary: There were two sides to the man that was Frank Castle.





	close ain't close enough with you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heidiamalia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heidiamalia/gifts).



> Happy belated birthday, my dear.

The first thing she registered, when she opened her eyes, was that her body would not stop spinning.

She threw out a hand to steady herself, feeling gravel dig into her palm, and then the cold, hard ground pulling her forcibly back, back, back, as she tried to sit up.

Okay. So the world was spinning too, then.

The air tasted sharply of metal when she forced in a breath, and everything caught fire for a moment, pain flaring through her, finally honing to a point at the back of her head. Her fingers came back tacky when she touched them there, and the movement jarred something else inside of her, a deeper ache down over her belly.

She reached with a trembling hand and gasped outright as it slid, warmth pooling beneath her fingertips, the edge of her shirt already drenched through.

_Put pressure on it, Karen. Come on. You can do this._

She flattened her arm over her side, holding down until her teeth clenched with the effort, but her grip kept slipping, the world wanting to tilt again and Christ she was so fucking tired…

Distantly, she heard shouting. More gunfire.

Backup. Thank God.

_It's not over. It's not over yet, Karen._

She let the thought settle and lodge itself into the very fiber of her being, like it was all that she knew – like it was all she had left – and she heaved her body up, managing to half-hoist herself onto her elbow. The throb of pain by her side began to bloom outward, a steady pulse beneath her hand, but she breathed through it as best as she could, scanning around the alleyway for cover.

Everything smelled of blood and garbage, bags of it strewn across her sight line – bags, and other motionless lumps that could have been bodies, but she wasn't going to dwell on that right now. She could make it behind one of those trash chutes, and after – well, what came after would just have to wait until then.

She tensed all over, pulling herself along the ground inch by painstaking inch. Her vision swam more than once, and she might as well have been climbing a wall, one-handed with nothing to hold onto, but falling was not an option, she had to…she…

And then, through the smoke and the deafening blood-rush in her ears, another kind of thunder, a roar that shook the earth, and her heart gave a leap she did not understand until she recognized the sound of her name.

…

There were two sides to the man that was Frank Castle.

…

Side one:

He brought her flowers.

He was the type she would've taken home to her parents, smiling while he charmed them with a polite "Sir" and a "How do you do, Mrs. Page," a firm handshake for Kevin (Kevin would be the last to warm up to him, trying for tough and unimpressed, but Frank – Frank would make it so easy for him to give in).

"He's all right, I guess." She pictured Kevin feign a shrug as he said it. "He can stay."

"My man." Frank gripped him in the shoulder, with a grin that she rarely got to see, and the seams to her illusion would start to show then, until it all cracked and fell back apart. Because this carefree version of Frank did not belong to her, because she was not that Karen anymore, and as for Mom, and Kevin, and Dad – they were gone now, in just about all the ways a person could be gone.

Frank had his moments, too.

There were times she'd never felt his absence more keenly than when he stood right in front of her, kissing her cheek and then pulling away, eyes hooded and forcibly holding her back. She saw things in them, unspeakable things that had no end – pain, yes, but perhaps something more, and it must have frightened him more than it did her, because she would've stepped closer, if he hadn't stepped back.

She thinks he might be the type she could've fallen for, if he let her.

And maybe they both knew it, at least to some degree (warm gazes that touched skin and lingered, the things they'd come to share in small spaces – breath, and blood, and bone). But he was the type that would keep his distance, to protect her. To let her think he could only be this gentler side of himself from afar.

Didn't he realize by now that she knew better?

She walked by the same corner bodega on 47th and 10th every day, and sometimes she wondered, if she brought home a bouquet of white roses and set them on her windowsill, how many it would take before Frank started to get the idea.

…

"Karen!"

His voice could have ground through glass.

"Frank?" she rasped, but it was drowned out by more explosive sounds, ricocheting off the dank alley walls, and she could barely hear it herself, let alone hope he could follow it to her.

He sounded so far away, still.

"Frank," she tried again, her throat cracking halfway with the effort. The rest of her had not fared any better, her body like one giant bruise, but soon it wouldn't matter as much because he would come for her.

He had come for her.

His voice shattered the air this time.

" _KAREN!_ "

…

"Sergeant Mahoney."

She caught him hovering in the doorway and gestured him into her office without glancing back up, still half-immersed in her work. "What can I do for you today?"

"Miss Page," he greeted her, tone measured but cordial as always.

Karen felt him approach her desk, and then she couldn't help letting her gaze flick toward the paper he held loose in his hand, as though he'd just happened to grab a copy on his way in. She quirked an eyebrow at him, curiosity piqued. He was, after all, not the kind who made social calls.

Brett cleared his throat, setting today's  _Bulletin_  too-casually down in front of her. She could guess without looking which spread he'd opened it to. "Interesting weather we've been having."

"There's a pretty good dry-cleaning deal if you flip to the other side," Karen told him evenly, without breaking eye contact.

"I got a place I like already," Brett returned, tone dry. "Half-off on Wednesdays, but thanks all the same."

He patiently stared her down, as if to say two could keep playing this game, and finally she sighed, sliding the paper back over to him.

"If you're looking to get a name on my source—"

"No, nothing like that," he was quick to assure her, but her gaze remained skeptical, arms folding together.

"Not… _exactly_  like that," he amended, pulling out the chair across from her desk and settling himself in.

"Okay." She'll bite. "What is it like, then?"

"We're on the same side here, Karen. The side that wants to see all the bad guys brought to justice."

"I won't argue with that." Apart from when they didn't see eye to eye on who was bad and who wasn't.

"These guys will be out for blood." Brett said it bluntly, but it was nothing that hadn't already occurred to her. He gave a nod to the article sitting between them.  _Local Business Newly Implicated in Sex Trafficking Ring_. "I don't intend to give it to them. But if they're going to try…"

"Let me guess." Karen smiled, sardonic. "Might as well make it happen on your terms, right?"

Brett gazed at her, unblinking, and she knew in that moment they they understood one another. "I have a favor to ask you, Miss Page."

…

She was the bait.

Her informant had played his part, planting the seed of her whereabouts that night they agreed to meet in an alley down by the docks.

In retrospect, they must have known it was a trap; they wouldn't have gone to the trouble, bringing that hail of gunfire with them, just to get rid of one nosy reporter.

It was quiet when Karen arrived, chilly but not unbearable. She'd worn her long coat more to hide the bulk of the Kevlar under her shirt, which she wouldn't have bothered with if not for Brett absolutely insisting.

And then the hell in Hell's Kitchen broke loose.

…

Brett turned to go.

She was sifting back through the papers in front of her when his voice carried over, soft and grim as he paused by the doorway. "Are you we going to run into any trouble with your…friend?"

"Daredevil's gone," she said, very carefully, after taking a moment not to react. "You know that."

"And I think you know Daredevil's not the guy I was talking about."

Karen sucked in a sharp breath, setting her papers back down on her desk before they started to shake in her hands. "No. No, I don't think you'll have to worry about him."

"I have to say that doesn't inspire a lot of confidence."

"You want to know the last time I saw him, Sergeant Mahoney?" Karen looked up, shrugged a shoulder at him. "Same time you did. Give or take an elevator ride."

She hadn't heard from him since; since the warmth of his body swaying with hers, the rest of the world standing still for a moment, the touch of his forehead,  _Take care_. She had no reason to think he'd even stayed in the city, after. "He could be dead too, for all I know."

Brett didn't look like he believed her any more than she did. "If Frank Castle gets in the way…" He left the rest of that thought go unspoken, his meaning perfectly clear. "Let's just say it would be in his best interest not to."

She almost had to laugh at that. "You act like it's up to me or something."

"Well, if you were to put in a word to discourage him—"

"Trust me, Brett. If Frank knew about this, you'd be hearing from him a lot sooner than that." She said it with a hard kind of certainty, but a small part of her couldn't help but whisper back that maybe it wouldn't have mattered. Maybe she was the one who hadn't moved on.

"Yeah, you're probably right about that," grimaced Brett. "Better not let him find out, then."

…

Karen bought flowers on her way home.

Not roses this time – they were looking a little worse for the wear, wilting yellow at the edges, and maybe it was ridiculous of her (it was, it most definitely was), but she just couldn't bear to see them that way.

She trimmed the tulips and set them down in a vase, moving books and papers aside to make room for them on her coffee table.

Her windowsill had gathered dust, and she took her time wiping it down, gazing out at the dimly lit street and wondering. There was a man out walking his dog, making frequent stops to examine a bush, the shadow of a fire hydrant, some leaves on the ground. If Karen squinted, she could almost pretend—

The man and his dog paused by the street lamp directly across from her building, and she let the curtains draw closed before stepping away.

…

Side two:

" _Karen!_ " he was shouting for her again, his voice coming apart as though lightning had split it in two. "Karen, I'm here. I'm—"

She heard a thud of impact, something solid landing beside her, and then his face swam into view, battle-hardened but breaking down slowly as she tried to smile up at him.

"Frank." It came out as a sigh, which only seemed to break him harder.

"The hell were you thinking, getting mixed up in this?" The words trembled, with rage and something else as he eased her up off of her elbow, arms encircling her from one side and leaning her weight against his chest.

He was so close, and looking so desperate that she forgot everything for a moment, and lifted her hand to reach for him.

His breath shuddered out, and she followed his gaze, from the blood dripping down past her wrist to the pool of it under her Kevlar.

"It's mine," she told him needlessly. "I think someone tried to take a stab at me earlier."

Frank seemed to only half-hear what she said, already lifting the hem of her shirt to assess her. "Flesh wound," he said at last, jaw tight. "Didn't got farther than muscle. But you've lost a lot of blood."

"You don't say."

He looked at her, baleful, taking her hand into his and lowering them both to her belly. "Just keep holding pressure, all right?" He muttered something else under his breath, eyes scanning all around them, but the dumpster kept them hidden for now.

"So, you been keeping tabs on me, Frank?" She kept her tone light, teasing, as he reached for her coat. She helped him shrug it off, alternating the pressure between her hands until he'd freed the sleeves from her arms. "Buy a girl a drink first, at least."

He ripped into the seams with short, sharp movements, tying them into a makeshift dressing for her wound. "Been reading your articles. Thought I could get to 'em first." Frank shook his head, nose flaring with each breath that heaved out of him, but his hands were steady as ever on her. They worked quickly, wrapping around and around her middle before securing the ends tightly together.

She twisted to face him as best as she could. "You followed them here."

His expression was bleak, hands clenching and clenching again at her sides. "If I'd've known—" He swore, whole body thrumming against hers with all the things he couldn't give voice to.

"Hey." Karen reached with her other hand this time, stilling it over his jawline. "Don't."

Frank leaned almost imperceptibly into her touch, swallowing hard, and she could tell he was fighting more than one war now. She felt him shift above her, the warmth of his exhale on her forehead, and then, so gently she thought she might have imagined it, his lips grazing her skin in a kiss.

She wanted to close her eyes, to marvel at this closeness with him – how it felt, what it took – but this side of him was never meant to stay either.

"It's good to see you," she said, pulling back. "But Frank, you have to go now."

He let out a short, humorless laugh. "'M not going anywhere, Karen."

"Brett, he—" She struggled to sit up straighter, forcing his gaze to meet hers. "He won't let you get away this time."

"I can phone in a favor," he said cryptically. "This had to be done. If they can't understand that—"

She stared at him, wondering if she'd hit her head even harder than she thought. "What? No, Frank, listen to me—"

"It's Pete," said Frank. "It's Pete now."

Their eyes held together, and she saw only warmth in all that blackness, the edges of his gaze going soft. She knew he would be whatever he thought he had to, for her, but no matter the time, or the many other things that he kept pushing between them, to her he would always be Frank.

"Look, I'm going to be fine, okay?" She spoke calmly, needing him to believe it, but he was refusing to budge, shaking his head with a look of grim determination. "They'll get me to a hospital, and everything will be fine but you  _have_  to get out of here before it's too late."

"You think I'm going to leave you like this?" The anger simmered low in his throat, dark and quietly thunderous. "You think I can just – walk away?"

Karen put her hand on his cheek, but he wasn't looking at her anymore. His gaze had gone unfocused, eyes wild and roving, and she pictured him as he'd been down by the water that night months ago, with that same haunted expression, demanding that he keep her safe.

"Frank, this isn't on you. You don't have to fix this."

He shook his head again, jaw clenching. "It's not about that. It's not about that."

"Well, whatever it's about, you can tell me some other time." She was trying to ease herself out of his grasp, but it was like wrestling with a wall, his arms resisting her at every turn.

"Karen," he said plainly, something cracking open in his voice, and she looked up at him, stilling, her hand on the side of his neck. "I can't lose you. What part of that do you not understand?"

"I'm right here." She shifted herself upward, coaxing him down until his forehead nudged into hers. She felt his breathing slow to a deep, steady rumble as she moved her hand down to his chest. "Hey. I'm here."

She wet her lips, and his gaze grew hooded, drawn down by the motion. A lick of heat flared through her, and this – this couldn't happen, he needed to go, but the way he was looking at her made it feel impossible to think straight, let alone push him away.

He rocked closer, their noses touching, and she closed her eyes.

"Frank Castle!"

Karen moved on instinct, Frank looking dazed for a second as she twisted around to press him behind her. She didn't have time to stop and consider the fact that she'd never seen him caught off guard like this before.

"Brett," she said as he approached them, gun trained just to the side of her head. "Please."

"Frank Castle, you're coming with me."

"The hell I am," growled Frank. He straightened behind her, ignoring her protests as he moved her gently but firmly aside. "Not until you get her away from all this. And could you point that fucking thing at me instead? Christ."

"Karen. Shit," said Brett, finally taking her in, and his gun lowered an inch. He started forward a step, surveying her carefully. "How bad are you hurt?"

"I'm fine. It's fine, just a scratch." But she gave a slight wince, and he holstered his gun, swearing some more under his breath.

"Let me get you a medic. Just – stay put."

"Staying put," she said drily, and he shook his head at her, unamused. "Come on, Frank, help me up."

Brett wavered, mistrusting. His hand twitched back for his gun, but Frank didn't spare him a glance, gingerly easing her onto her feet and then bracing her there, unwilling to fully release her.

"You sure you're good to stand?" His forehead creased, eyebrows knitting together as he gazed intently down at her, and she'd never wanted to kiss him more than she did in that moment.

"Watch me." She would've winked at him then, if she thought that he could handle it.

Brett had reached for his walkie, eyes still on Frank as he leaned into the mouthpiece. Static filled the air.

"All due respect, Mahoney." Frank's voice sobered, thick with unpaved gravel. "You could've lost a lot more men tonight."

Brett regarded him in a calculated silence, face hard with disapproval.

"Please." It came out barely a whisper, raspy and fraying apart at the edges. The sound of it seemed to take Brett aback, and he stared at Frank like he might've been seeing him for the first time. "Please, just. Just take care of her, and I'll go wherever you want me."

"Need a medic, stat," Brett spoke into the receiver. "Dumpster, on the far east side."

"Dispatching now. Any sign of the Punisher?" crackled a voice in response.

Brett pressed a button and held down. "Had eyes on him earlier."

"And?"

Brett gazed at them both, unblinking, and said, "Asshole got a head start."

Karen felt Frank swaying forward, and put a hand out to stop him, palm pressing into his chest. "Hey." And he glanced down again, looking openly fazed as she leaned in to kiss him on the cheek.

"Go," she whispered, stepping back.

For a moment, they were in the elevator again, unable to give each other more than a look, a briefly shared breadth of space between heartbeats before one of them had to walk away.

Frank watched her, face tight. There was no bomb that required defusing, or anything else left to rescue her from, but still he hesitated a split second longer. She couldn't help but wonder if this part was getting harder for him, too.

His mouth opened, and she recognized the words without having to hear them aloud.

_I will come for you_.

A promise. Not out of necessity, or because her life was still on the line. Maybe there was no line with them anymore. Maybe there was just, simply—

Her head only swam a little as she took those first steps over toward Brett, but she let her knees buckle when he'd drawn close enough to catch her. She leaned her weight into him, more than she really needed to, and he stumbled slightly before grabbing hold of her.

"You good?" asked Brett, looking her up and down with his full, undivided attention.

"Yeah. Thanks." She nudged a playful shoulder into his, touching a hand down to her belly. The blood there had grown tacky, losing most of its heat. She had time to keep stalling. "You're one of the good ones, you know that?"

She could practically hear Brett rolling his eyes at her, but then he was coaxing her to a stop with a kind "Easy there, easy" when she took another shaky step and landed hard on one ankle.

"It's okay," said Karen, not letting herself glance back to look for him. "I'm okay." She shifted forward again, thinking of Frank, and she hoped.

She hoped—

…

Karen spent the next two days in the hospital, sitting through scan after scan until the doctors were satisfied that nothing internal had sustained any damage. The stitches in her belly wound would need removing later, along with a handful of staples they'd put in the back of her head. There were bruises beneath her Kevlar, and she couldn't take more than a few steps at a time without getting winded – but it was enough, and she was more than ready when they finally sent her home.

Foggy spent the car ride back trying not to fuss over her too terribly much. If he guessed at Frank's involvement in gunning down crime alongside the NYPD, he knew better than to comment on it.

And if he could sense her distraction the closer they got to her place, he chose not to say anything about that either.

He made sure her apartment was well-stocked with pillows before leaving for work, promising to be back with their favorite takeout for dinner. She kissed him on the cheek as he left, and then busied herself for a while, texted Ellison to let him know she'd made it home safely, washed the dishes, made tea. Tried not to think about Frank and the promise he'd made her.

Tried not to, anyway.

There was no sense of urgency anymore, no life or death kind of matter, so she couldn't help but wonder if maybe nothing had changed. If they'd reset themselves, after. If they were back to square one.

He brought her flowers two hours later.

…

Frank stood in her doorway again, with white roses and a sheepish expression, eyes bright and almost painfully earnest on hers. One corner of his mouth lifted up, something shy in his smile that made her feel warm and tuck her hair back as she leaned a shoulder into the door.

"Hey." He sounded like he hadn't spoken in days, voice rough and pitched low.

"Hi," Karen smiled.

She'd lost count of how many times she'd tried to picture him like this, no mission, no favors, no blood to be spilled. Just Frank, looking for all the world like he was bringing flowers home to his girl.

"I, uh, wanted to come see you in the hospital, but. You know how that would've gone." He looked down at the roses, brow furrowed like they weren't going to make up for his not being there.

"Press would've had a field day to see that."

His eyes crinkled at her, and then he said, simply, "Yeah. Yeah, something like that."

He'd lowered the bouquet to his side, biting his lip as he rocked gently forward, and Karen felt herself leaning too, gravitating toward him like nothing was easier or more right than this.

Frank reached carefully out and pressed a palm over her bandages, the warmth of his hand seeping through. It chased a shiver up her spine, sending the nerves in her belly aflutter, and if anything he'd done could be seen as a crime in her eyes, this would have made the top of her list.

"How's it look?" he asked her, hoarse, the sound of it scraping over her ear. She shivered again, everything tingling this time around as she glanced up and found just how close they had gotten.

"Like you wouldn't be able to tell me exactly how many stitches they had to put in. Or when they said to get them out." Karen arched an eyebrow at him, lightly accusing, and he bobbed his head with a low-throated chuckle.

"Yeah, I think I'll plead the fifth on that one." There was a hitch at the end as he said it, gaze drifting down to her hands as she settled them over his chest. "Karen, I…"

She looked up at him, waiting. She wouldn't push him, or be the one who walked away, but she needed to know – she needed to believe that he could meet her in the middle this time, all of Frank, with all of her.

His hand wrapped around to her side, tugging her into him in small, almost time-stopping increments, until their hips were just bumping together. She felt his forehead press against hers, and it was as though she no longer had control of her body, her hand moving down the length of his arm to loosen his grip on the roses.

The motion seemed to unlock something inside of him, and suddenly he was walking her backwards, nudging the door shut behind them. He took her chin in his other hand, palm warmly cupping her throat.

Seconds stretched into something like forever as they breathed each other in, noses touching, bodies swaying and shifting together. Her eyes closed as he leaned in the rest of the way, and he kissed her hard and slow, like time was theirs, like he was  _hers_ , and here to stay at last.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on [tumblr](https://ninzied.tumblr.com)! accepting prompts :)


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